Well if you want to write, you should hang around with writers. It only stands to reason, It isn't rocket science ( what is rocket science,one wonders?). As a sometimes resident of this small city, I thought maybe the writing group would be terribly inconvenient for my peripatetic existence. You know I didn't want to commit to a full semester course in writing, or to pay any money for it. No , I just went out looking for a writing group. And being new to said small city, I thought " oh well , they probably meet in some obscure location - RATS! they meet right here in my neighborhood, in a community centre between my office and my home. It's like they are slapping me in the face and saying WE ARE HERE FOR YOU.) So sometimes you just have to follow the signs and pay attention, and show up. If  course, no one likes to be the new one in the group, no ones wants to bear their soul and their writing ( or their soul through their writing) but we all show up. And oddly, there is some relatively painless baring of words and souls, and the world does not come to an end. The writing is good, there is very little of the large ego pissing contest variety ( not a lot of performance/spoken word rants, as exemplified by my friend AB's "pigeons poo as pigeons do"), but there is some, which keeps me on my toes.

The world is so convenient that they meet weekly - bi weekly and monthly for whatever writing needs you might have. They are an all purpose muti-service writing emporium. They have subgroups and sub woofers for every permutation known to writingdom. They even have afternoon writers groups ( for those who have the leisure/preference to ponder writing by daylight - a luxury some of us poor sods can only dream of)

So I'll go to their meetings, IK'll even read the draft textx in advance and offer my critiques. But they can't make me write if I don't want to. They can write and read and rant and write all they want. But they can't make me write - .....yet.

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This week my friend DEB passed away after a short but serious illness. It wasn't fair to lose her so soon after recently reconnecting, there was supposed to be lots of time while she recuperated.

I have reflected on the privilege it is to be part of DEB's circle for so many years. She never lost track of me, even after years and miles had separated us. She mentored me in many ways, most definitely in our shared profession of archives, but also as a reader and a writer. When I wrestled about career choices, she was emphatic in affirming instincts, giving advice, and encouraging bold directions. This past spring she told me to just get myself to BC -
"we'll figure the rest out once you're here."

In the late 1980s when we were both trying to make Toronto our new home, we'd meet for tea and journalling and her endless supply of homemade meringues at her apt near what Toronto called The Beaches; it was imperative for
DEB to live by Lake Ontario, one of the more picturesque neighborhoods. DEB's focus on you as an individual was intoxicating; she listened with rapt attention, she followed circuitous lines of association, she was always right there no matter where you went. She was the most present in all conversations; you had the sense that there was nothing more important in that moment than the conversation you were sharing.  DEB was a companion of gentle spirit and
infectious laughter; she could tease with great affection.

DEB spoiled us all with this gift of completely genuine friendship and love, and I miss her dearly. I think the standard she lived her life by was her richest legacy - honest, true, real, present, full, and above all so selfless.

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Ten years ago I stopped commuting from one municipality to another on a daily basis, and was shocked to realize how much time and energy I had. Living and working in the same time space continuum had a rejuvenating effect, and I vowed I would never go back to that commuter world. I had my life back, I felt like me, and people didn't look at me like I was crazy. For the past two years, I've lived and worked in the downtown core, walking 15 minutes between. Once you've done that, it is very hard to think of living any other way. It spoils you for anything else, or so I thought.

I have since relocated to SuperNatural, the Best Place on Earth, ( and heaven knows there will be more monickers in years to come) where quality of life is everything. Meeting people here is odd, because it takes me a while to realize that the " what do you do?" is actually about what do you like to do ( activity, sports, hobby, passion) not what do you do as work. Where you live and what you do as your passion is what counts; it's understood that the other thing ( work) is secondary, and your ultimate happiness depends on the passion, and of course, the location.

I am commuting on a weekly basis, and that holds some sanity as opposed to the daily grind. During the week I walk to my office ten minutes away, in a new version of a new downtown. On weekends I travel home , but I am travelling through some of the most dramatic sea and mountain scapes ever. At first it was profoundly rivetting and distracting; I couldn't sleep or read or relax, I studied every inch of the panorama as it whizzed by. Today I got swept up in the tourist buzz, and put down my reading to absorb another sunset, a shimmering lake, a cavernous mountain pass; I think I'm gradually assimilating. I've put the go-go-go pace behind me ( most of the time), and stopping to take a look around, and realize how lucky I am. I am living close to loved ones, doing something I am good at and care about, and learning to live a little more deeply everyday. Those pauses that Mother Nature instills are botanical or geographic yield signs, and I'm learning the rules of this new road.

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But I really should be here writing. I'm not actually under any pressure, I just seem to have these keener friends and loved ones who are nudging, some not so gently. So alright already - I'm here. Yes, I've missed writing as much as you've missed reading. But I needed to get settled, I thought I could do it from the road, but I was wrong.I have few entertainment devices to distract me, and loads of time. So go on, I'll throw a few bones. Sure I'll be rusty after all this time, but ya gotta start somewhere eh? Did I just say that? I don't think I've ever really "eh'd" before, so quintessentially Canadian, so cliched and yet there it was, spat out on the pavement like a wad of gum on Yonge Street.[ Only now I see there is a solution - look at how trendy this is.]

So I'm back, my pencils are sharpened like the first day of school, and I have some new fashion, so my self-esteem is bolstered. I'm not making out of this world promises about productivity, but I'm back, and glad to know someone is hanging around waiting to play with me.

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Don't get me wrong, I'm all for change, but lately the pace is picking up, like I'm in the fast lane, when really I want to be walking down the boardwalk at a leisurely stroll to the beach. I want generous heaps of time that is unstructured to say gentle goodbyes, and reconnect with old friends before I really have to say good bye for a long time. I've done such a good job at being optimistic, that I forgot to leave a cushion for how sad it really is to do this big thing that we're doing. I'm midwife to the denouement of my current place of work, and just let go of a big piece today when the postings went public for new recruits. There's no way to do that without feeling the impact profoundly; I've had my head around it for months, even drafted a short communication, but letting it all go into the ether caught me in grief. I'm yesterday's gal - and this made if real official - oomphf!

With my friends, it's a deeper catch.Just now I called my best friend aka BFFRC (someday he'll have a blog I can link this to, but for now BFFRC) because I missed him, and needed his friendly voice, and amid a short rollercoaster conversation we are  breathless in laughter and silliness. I love that about BFFRC, I love him because he gets so much of me, and has had years of practice. I wasn't calling for anything really except I guess I was; I need to talk to him, and need to slap myself into action - yes, call. This is so much more enjoyable, therapeutic and human than hunkering down to write or read ( my two primary activities after sleeping and eating - I am part bear btw) - and the best connection ever. I used to bemoan how long it would take in this city to get together with people, how you'd have to book days, weeks, months in advance to coordinate so much as a cup of coffee or meal together etc. I am now in kamikaze spontaneity mode ( ahhh fond memories of the phenomenon known as "Sightings" in my Froggy-Goes-a-Courtin' Days with The Goddess - in which I am the frog), and BFFRC has risen to the occasion himself (midnight email re breakfast Sun am? dinner after work today?Yes!).

I'm thinking of making this a competitive Olympic trial sport in the 80 odd days remaining - the dew drop in, just passing by and thought I'd see if you were here - and see how friends respond. I mean really, all this planning and forethought is lovely but if you're thinking about me, why not call? The worst thing that can happen is I'm not home, in which case you score HUGE for trying and thinking of me. It's not about the score - it's about noticing that we care for each other - we care deeply. And to let a glimmer of that show each time we're together is the sweetest thing, not take it for granted. If it's sad that we only get around to telling each other this stuff when it looks like we're not going to be in each other's immediate time space continuum, I can handle that. That pain of saying goodbye bit by bit is also a growing pain - I'm convinced it's our heart stretching to capacity -  one I'm so very grateful for every day.

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I strolled campus to run a few errands in the midday sunshine. Strolling is not yet the casual pastime of yore, as my gammy leg still is untrustworthy, and much vexed by the 30 cm of snow received over the weekend. The rivulets, streams and mountains of slush required close attention as I circumnavigated a couple of blocks, dropping in for croque madame here, switching up library books there, and taking the sunniest route possible back to the office. Most of the people out and about had the same paralyzed look on their faces as they greeted lake after lake of slushy stuff; climbing into adjacent snowbanks, which although they were deeper, were more solid that - ew! - water. The free spirits in their burberry fashion rubber boots jumped in with glee, while the street shoe clad ones fretted on the curbs. There is no where for this stuff to drain!

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  I'm sure I too held a stern expression while I gingerly stepped, slower than most; in a flash, this was completely shattered when I happened past a subway entrance I use as a shortcut. Among the crowds exiting where I wanted to enter were four young girls, walking up the stairs backwards. It's the first day of March break, and although they seemed destined for some great cultural excursion, it was clear they had already achieved the day's highlight - it didn't require $20 admission, no coats being checked, nor endless stimulation. They were making a challenge and a game of something they use everyday - only today they'd made it that little bit different. Their giggles and joy at getting to the top of the stairs backwards caught me, and flipped my focus - to the simplicity of journeys and who you take with you. Getting there is more than half the fun.

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Things are getting out of control, and the solution seems to be massive amounts of hilarity around here. My partner and I are spending lots of time together, focusing on the task at hand ( and the mounting lists of tasks at hand, to be more accurate), but there is an undercurrent of carefree, silly, let's-just-get-outta-this-town about it all. Oh sure, the 16 week clock is a-tickin', and while it may be too early to count sleeps, it's not too early to book movers, plan a party, host a parental visit, take 3 more courses, pack up a home  - all while working full time til the bitter end. Oddly,  this all seems quite manageable - especially in light of the cross country trek to start a new phase of our lives. The mechanics are a breeze - the big picture should be more unsettling - but it's like the delirium that sets in when you're in full high fever mode - you are just gunning for the thrill of the ride. I've just seen the film "Death at a Funeral (2007)" which features a brilliant performance by Alan Tudyk as a lawyer who'd been slipped some hallucinogenic drugs in error prior to attending a family funeral of his in-laws; much nudity ensues, but it this beatific expressions on his face and the wonder of the world in its simplicity that floored me. Imagine if we walked around, taking the time to notice the greenery of leaves by smashing our entire heads into a hedgerow? Friday night a storm blew up in the city during rush hour; I found myself walking through the busy streets amazed at the sudden transformation -  I stuck out my tongue for two full blocks catching fresh snowflakes before I realized what I was doing - and the beauty and freedom of the daring to do exactly what I wanted when I wanted - that's what I want more of, that's part of what the move is about, inching closer to the dream.

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I know life is like this sometimes, but I don't like it . telling me it gets better doesn't help - I am impatient. I want it now. I want to know. I need some reassurance. This living dangerously, flying by the seat of my pants thing is not for me. I need to land, I need somewhere to lay my head, and I need to know what I'm doing when I get up in the morning. OK, I've had a charmed, secure, predictable existence for most of my life - actually for all of my life. I am one of those freaks who moved seamlessly from home to university to grad school to full time employment and I have stayed there. Even when I changed jobs, it was slowly, cautiously in 4 , 10 and now 8 year spurts - hardly a roller coaster of intrigue and exploration. I am the turtle - slow and steady wins the race. ( Am I a tortoise? is there a difference?)

I admire those who live a little closer to the edge, who sake it up, who mess with the fates, and take the odd dive into the deep end, big splash, big finish, and big shit eating grins on their faces. Can I even put on my bathing suit? Dare I skinny dip? Does this bathing cap make my head look too fat? Do you suppose that water is cold? What if I have  a heart attack as I'm jumping?

I'm not always this stuck, this hesitant, this wracked with doubts. But this is where I am now, some of the times, not all of  the time. On good days, I do want to be that adventurer, and I have a lot of support from my partner who's travelling with me, and friends and family. I used the word skiving yesterday, and someone misheard it as skydiving(!) - that skydiving was remotely possible was hysterical to me - Welcome the daredevil!

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Well, this is a myth. You actually can't hop or lurch when you're in crutches without maiming or straining some other body part other than the one that put you in the crutches in the first place. Once you've mastered the aluminum crutches, and learned to walk in an upright rather than perpendicular posture, aerodynamics improve rapidly. The single most significant revelation is that the weight is supported by your hands, which are cleverly designed to do the job, unlike your tender armpits. So rapidly do you improve in fact that you are under the illusion that you no longer need crutches with your walking cast, but can actually use the cast to walk ( a misnomer if there ever was one). Enter the cane. The cane is much more aesthetically pleasing and easy to coordinate your wardrobe with, it is sleek, black, virtually invisible, and most serendipitously, it matches your walking cast ( and evening gown).

The cane, it should be noted, is not a crutch. It is thinner, less able to bear one's weight, and flimsy to manouevre as it is not wedged in your armpit. It really only is effective when employed on the side of the body where the initial injury is lodged, that is to say, no amount of carrying or poking the crutch held in your left hand will in any way aid or abet the pain and discomfort you have in your right broken ankle. Whatsoever. It also not wise to carry a full cup of hot coffee while wielding a cane that you actually need to use; this is also not wise with crutches for obvious reasons.

Lurching while in a walking cast threatens to displace other body parts, like hips which are just so flexible, backs and necks from lying prone trying to relax,and also the uninjured foot. The uninjured foot is the workhorse, bearing your weight, providing balance, working overtime to ensure that you stay upright, holding your pantleg while you gingerly try to dress your gammy foot, and anchoring you to the world. You do not want to mess with your left foot when your right foot is broken. If for any reason you feel a twitch, twinge or strain in your good foot, sit down immediately. Invoke all manner of favors and refrain from everything, especially from walking, lurching or hobbling. Your uneven gait is the cause of your new injury, and must be waited out.

It is at this stage that you survey your stack of unread fiction, and immerse yourself in the " I always wanted to read"s of the last decade. This is your only task, your duty and your calling - and yes, at the end of it all there will be test. You will walk again.

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